Living in the dark
by Miss Spesh
Summary: Due to all the positive and lovely reviews from my first story Confessions of Time I decided to write another, I don't really go for these type of stories but I thought I would give it a go, will get better. Eventual Mirandy... promise :D


**WARNING: May trigger... involves harm and other things! I do not own DWP if I did then Mirandy would have happened!**

**A/n : someone pointed out to me that this was similar to a story by Millie which it actually is... However this was originally my coursework but I edited it for a DWP story... I've read Millie's story now and mine will be taking a different route! However the similarity is scary but this is my own work.. Like I said its old coursework :) **

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Alive

As she sat down on the sofa, and leant forward to her glass she could feel them, the long thin lines, the reason for her addiction, the reason that she was so composed all the time, the marred lines that she felt with her always. The first ones had long since disappeared, having faded away over the years. But even though they were no longer visible, they were still present. There was one from her first, brief marriage that had ended seemingly faster than it had begun. Another remained from the birth of her children. She had stayed away from her 'friend' all the nine months, willing _them_ to heal so that they wouldn't be visible for the birth, thinking, hoping, praying that this would annihilate her obsession but the instant those two girls left her body she fell into a devastating depression and had found solace in several more. One was from the end of her marriage; another for the frustration of dealing with a divorce and the humiliation. The most recent was from the decline and extinction of her second marriage which had been more like a façade than anything real. But the most recent was the deepest by far. It was long and cavernous. It had hurt the most, the loss of her life when everything inside her 'house' went gray and dark.

That's why she did it, she craved it, needed it; she tried to resist however resisting, was like giving up heroine, it made her alive, made her feel… something, anything. It was her obsession, her drug, her _heroine_. She was a house, perfectly built on the outside, not a brick out of place and her cement would never fail her, never make her crumble. However, if people she knew, employees, friends, family ever looked in the window of her house, they would be horrified. Gray walls and furniture would be seen, and nothing but death and misery would be felt if someone dared try and look through the window of her 'house'. On the outside she was beautiful, sheer perfection to the outside world, to the people just passing by her window; yet she felt ugly, as ugly as her obsession as hideous as the feelings that plagued her, as the lines that marked her. This was what she did because she did not know what else to do; she despised herself for it once the deed was done, once another mark bared on her perfect porcelain skin. She did not lower herself to expound her issues with anyone other than her therapist. And even what she divulged to her therapist was wrapped in padding, for no one knew how much she hurt on the inside, how much she wanted someone to break through and pull her out of the _perfect '_house' she had built around her.

She was left to herself, left to deal with her issues alone; no one knew how easily she could break. With a bottle of wine and a crystal glass in hand she made her way through to the study, filling her glass quickly she brought the deep red poison to her lips, trying to substitute one drug for another.

Opening her eyes, she found her vision was blurry, the need to give in to her obsession mounting drastically, clouding her mind, her vision. She felt lethargic, tired, worn down, she needed _it _to help the stress. She was getting old, she didn't look it but she felt it in her bones. The only thing she had left was her job, her power, her position, her wealth. But even all of that had almost been taken from her and none of it made her happy and least _they_ made her alive.

She despised the weakness the deed itself highlighted. However, that voice, the dark voice inside her head urged her to give in, taunted her, knowing that she would soon be encompassed within her weakness once more, embrace by it, smothered by it.

She was nothing, she had no one, that's why she did it, her obsession, her drug, it made her alive, it gave her something; she wasn't alone. Finishing her glass of wine, which was then left abandoned on the oak table, she started to retreat to the bedroom, her steps heavy, the bumpy lines taunting her, knowing she was fighting a battle that she was destined to lose.

Inside her bathroom she located the very thing that she had come to rely on to bring her peace. It was sitting inside the bottom drawer to the right of her sink; waiting for her. Extracting the thin metal piece she felt a shiver run down her spine; her friend was waiting for her, it knew she would give in.

Sinking down to the floor, she pulled her skirt up, revealing the red scars of pain; the deepest set further up, high on the inside of her thigh. It was still bright red, looking as if it could burst at any second and bleed once more, they were welcoming, begging for more siblings to line up beside them.

With unsteady hands, she moved to her other thigh and pressed the blade to her lily-white skin, wanting to make it ugly like she felt on the inside so that anyone looking through her window could see. As the blade sliced her skin open, a thin drop of blood seeped out. This was the only safe place to do this…she was a well put together, beautiful woman. She had no imperfections to the outside world, she was perfect, and she couldn't afford not to be.

She grinned with a madness akin to being drunk. If only they knew… The line was increasing, blood flowing, she closed her eyes, she should have resisted but it was too late… she could never resist.

This was _her_ drug and no matter how much she resisted it would claim her again, swallow her whole and consume her, until there was simply nothing left but the dark.

"Miranda…?"

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**AN: Thanks for reading... what do you think? Whose found her... whats happening? Ohhh don't hate me :P**

**I actually promise my next story will be less sad and tragic haha! Though this story is not over! Well not unless you what it to be over..**


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